The Princess They Turned On

The High Priestess held the parchment between us. "Once you sign, there is no turning back. The bond will sever. Your soul will tear. You could die, Aria." I dipped my thumb into the bowl of my blood and pressed it beside my name. The parchment drank in the print. "My soul is already in pieces. Death would be a release." Her breath fogged between us as she handed me a small, dark token. The Unreturnable Contract was sealed. In three days, I would belong to the Northern Wastes, or to no one at all. Outside the sanctuary, the wind caught the gash Caleb had left on my shoulder that morning. Each step pulled at it. Zane stood ahead of me in the snow. He had treated my fevers for years and sat with me after nightmares, talking until my wolf stopped pacing. I still thought of him as the gentle one. Steam curled from the bowl in his hands. Fire-Thistle soup, my favorite. The earthy smell made my empty stomach tighten, and for a moment I remembered coming back from patrol to find the same bowl waiting. For one foolish second, I thought he had remembered me. I went to meet him. His face softened when he saw me. Then he glanced toward the cabin behind him and set his jaw. "Aria." He shifted the bowl away before I could take it. I stopped with my hand halfway raised. My shoulder pulsed beneath the bandage. "Zane?" He stepped toward the small cabin where Sera was staying. "She's shivering," he said. "She isn't used to our winters. She needs this more." He met my eyes. "It's time you learned to be independent, Aria. We can't keep spoiling you." My hand dropped to my side. He carried the soup he used to make after my patrols to Sera's door. I watched until he went inside. His lesson had worked. I had three days left here. I turned and walked back to my rooms. Every winter, Zane used to tuck a warmed moonstone beside my pillow before dawn. I would wake with my hands curled around it, having slept through the worst part of the blizzard. My room was dark and colder than the corridor. I crossed to the bed and felt beside the pillow. Only cold linen met my fingers. The stone had been gone for weeks. My hands shook. I pressed them into the mattress, but one tear still slipped down my cheek. Before it could fall, it turned to ice. The frozen tear landed on the linen with a faint click. I stared at it in the dark. Then a scent drifted on the wind from the main pack house. Pungent. Cloying. Sickly sweet. A perfume I had never smelled before, coming from Caleb's room. *My* room.